Peanut Butter
by thediagnosis
Summary: After the group returns from their field trip, Will is craving peanut butter and a few other things.


The bus ride back to McKinley was a long and silent one. The trip had not exactly been the success that Will had hoped it to be. He figured it would be a morale booster, a 'we can obviously do much better than them' type of trip. But one could tell by the thick cloud of defeat that hung in the air that the trip had been anything but that.

Will sat alone in the back whilst Emma had situated herself upfront. He suggested that the chaperones should stay together but was quickly corrected. Emma explained to him that in the case of an accident it was much more practical to have one of them at each emergency exit, and he obliged. He could've easily argued the likelihood of something happening and that they were accompanied by six of the – well five – of the least rowdy students in school. Instead he just nodded and went on his way, left to himself and his thoughts.

Once they arrived home, the students filtered out quickly, exchanging nods and quiet 'see-ya-laters' on their way out. Will made his way to the front, all the while doing his teacherly duties of checking in between seats for garbage and any other unmentionables. Emma's copper hair dusted the top of her seat and as he approached, he wondered why she hadn't moved yet. Taking the last steps down the aisle, he noticed her eyes closed, hands folded meticulously on her lap as her chest rose and fell gracefully. A smile tugged on his lips as he perched himself on the edge of the seat across from hers and allowed both of them a minute before he had to wake her up.

"Emma," he whispered huskily, not wanting to startle her. He swept his fingertips lightly across her forehead, placing her hair back into its place as her eyes began to flutter.

"Em, hey. We're back," a little louder this time. A flash of brown peered up at him as she came to, adjusting her posture and checking the strand of hair that should've been, but wasn't, out of place.

"What did you call me?" she asked; sleep still heavy in her voice.

"Oh, um, Em. Sorry. It's late. I opt for short forms after 10pm," he shrugged with a smile. She returned the smile and giggled slightly.

"What would that make you then?" He looked at her quizzically. "I mean, short form wise. What's your short form?"

"Ah, well, technically Will is already pretty short."

"So is Emma. Will. Emma. Both only four letters long. If you want to get technical."

"Yes, but I'm only one syllable. You are a two."

"A two-syllable…hmm. What does that say about me? Sounds like some kind of genetic condition, or something." A coy smile from her and a laugh from him followed as he rubbed his hands against his knees.

"I'm not sure what it means."

"Hungry. It means I'm hungry." He looked up at her as she began gathering herself and her things together. _Didn't last long enough_, he thought.

They got off the bus together, lingering around the bench where he first noticed how pretty her eyes were.

"We still have that leftover PB&J," he suggested, hopeful.

"Still craving that, huh?"

"Yes," he answered. But he wasn't sure what he craved more: the peanut butter or the conversation with her. Will watched her search through her bag for the plastic container. _Could she not really find it or was she just stalling? _One would've thought she had a filing cabinet in her purse. Before he could fully analyze the situation, he eyed the blue Tupperware in her hand as she reached it out to him.

"Here. Enjoy. Bring it back to me tomorrow. And, you can wash it, but you don't have to because I'll just end up doing it again," she said with a bat of her lashes and a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Don't you want your half?" he asked a bit too pleadingly, but probably not enough for her to notice.

"You enjoy it. I eat one of these things everyday but you…you never get to have them. Wife's allergies and all." _You'd think she was allergic to a hell of a lot of things if you knew everything I never get to have. _

"Thanks," was all he could manage to say as his hand grasped the container. Their fingers brushed, his on hers, a warm contrast to the cool of the plastic. They both lingered there longer than he expected before pulling away simultaneously.

"Goodnight, one-syllable Will," she said in a sing-song voice that made him smile the widest he had in a while.

"Night, Em," he quipped as she raised an eyebrow and turned on her heels, walking towards her car.

He sat himself down on the bench; a warm breeze ruffled his shirt as he unwrapped the folded tinfoil and pressed the sandwich to his mouth.

_Peanut butter_, he thought, enjoying the only craving he was allowed to indulge.


End file.
